#f: ivory

[apricote]

:(

[ivorybilledwoodpeckerresource]

Ivory-Billed Woodpeckers

Engraved drawing of the Ivory-billed woodpeckers (Campephilus principalis), from the book 'Nature neighbors' by Nathaniel Moore Banta, Albert Schneider, William Kerr Higley, and Gerard Alan Abbott, 1914. Courtesy Internet Archive.

[saltzerland]

"hurry up and take it."

saw a Longan smoocher on here gushing about the concept of Longan gifting them a brooch romantic-style, and i got bored so, y'know, i drew it.

can't find the post in question, but if its you then uhh

then you know.

[would-they-listen-to-that]

idk how this works but can u do a selfship playlist of luther ivory from ranfren and a introverted person who listens to black/death metal (me lol). non-metal songs are okay too

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ here you go, caller! apologizing in advance, as black/death metal is unfortunately a blindspot genre for mod 😅

Heartaches - Al Bowlly

Forever Night Castle of Love - Këkht Aräkh

I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire - The Ink Spots

Her Ghost Haunts These Walls - Nocturnal Depression

Masquerade - Jack Hylton & His Orchestra

Swordsman - Këkht Aräkh

Lullaby of the Leaves - Henry Hall

You're My Only Dream - Annorkoth

We'll Meet Again - The Ink Spots

A Death So Pure - Midnight Odyssey

thanks for dialing in!

[b0nb0nni]

[unofficials4t4n]

I've heard a bunch of different names for this fucker

We've got the operator, the administrator, god, the father, stick in the mud, that thing, the tall man, the faceless king, the faceless man, the faceless angel, hellspawn, Mr. No Face, tall friend, tall fucker, even some whack shit like daddy long legs

...

I did not expect the next addition to this list to be 'raging sex pest'

[thirstyratsnake]

he changes so much lol

---------

@0v3rgl0w

[modmamono]

Here's a surface-level video about my OCs.

Thanks again to @semeukedotcom!

[anghraine]

Occasionally I wonder if I fit the lit-fic bogeyman of the contemptible intellectual weaklings who only read SF/F, and it actually takes a moment to remember that I'm writing a dissertation on 17- and 18th-century British literature that has very little in common w/ SF/F.

[arctic-rising]

ouughh im not going to change her to harlequin because i love how she looks with cherub too much but MAN harlequin ivory makes arctic super duper matchy

[apricote]

hiiiiiiiiiiiiii sebastian

[hallasimss]

not something i usually talk about here but i had a little breakthrough in the family genealogy research today and istg i felt something over my shoulder. like an ancestor or something i'm not even kidding

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, heian era, vırgin sukuna, touch starved sukuna, humping, unprotected, premature ejaculation, mdni.

virgin!sukuna who won’t bend knee for no one, fears no one . . is weak for nothing.

nothing except for your touch.

and oh, it irritates him abominably. he’s got a taste of you and he’s addicted. in his royal chambers, he humps his pillow, whetted sharp fangs burying into his lip in utter shame. crimson velvet eyes roll their way into the very backs of his head until he sees ivory white. imagining he’s deep inside of you again, slowly grinding his hips into yours, hearing the melodic sounds of your moans escape from each rough stroke. his heat, he swears to himself as he feels the fabric glue back and forth against his skin. instead of a pillow it should have been your body. “f- fuckkk,” he groans, missing your touch, your skin. you had him whipped, sukuna doesn’t get weak for anyone, anyone except you.

he mercilessly grinds his hips into his pillow, a tiny whimper slipping out of his lips before he swears out your name. again, and again, and again,

the moment you return though — he’s a mess. the once feared ruthless king sukuna ryomen that’s lived for thousands of years was now a whiny mess that couldn’t last five seconds without your touch, without your taste. to him, it was sacred. “woman, i need you,” and his voice for once, it was shaky. you have a smug grin, growing priggish at how clingy you made him and he tchs in annoyance.

“what’s the magic word, ‘kuna?”

it’s a long dead pause, you hear the vexed sigh rip out of his full lungs before he shoots you a glare. “….. please. i need you to touch me again.”

with his entire broad frame slumped back, he watches with blown wide irises as you align yourself against his cock. already, it’s droplets and droplets of sheeny white pre-cum coating near his tip. it’s like a swirl, the shine glistens near his cockhead and you watch as a bit of his foreskin peels itself back. you’re teasing him, rutting back and forth against just his tip and he hisses in want of more. sukuna was so big, taking one of him was like taking two and you’ve never felt more full. your hips rapidly make haste and start to jerk a bit forward and you moan once his fattened tip thrashes against your slit opening.

“mhm,” and then you look down at the demon who’s still got a cute pout contorting against his pink lips. sharp serrated nails of his gently shovels into your skin, clinging onto your hips tightly. “aw, are you shaking, sukuna?”

“s- shut up,” he gruffs, immediately feeling a lump prod its way into his throat.

you have him at your very mercy. he grunts, red eyes flickering back slowly and gradually as he’s feeling himself stretch you open. your cunt was so inviting—the feeling of your warmth holding him hostage was purely mouthwatering.

gaping and all, he feels every direct hit against your sopping wet pussy and he’s just hungry for more. your skin sticks against his as you try to shift your weight, rolling your hips back and forth until he growls out a pathetic surrendering whimper. he’s big and thick and you feel every delectable inch ease its way inside of you. fangs of his still continue to gnaw deep at the bottom of his lip, feeling your hips strike forward at a much more briskly pace.“ugh, god woman. y’r hips ‘s gonna make me-”

a single breath gets caught in his throat— not a lump this time but a single breath, you had him speechless.

a few pink strands of hair that stuck against forehead due to built up perspiration ghosts down his slit brows. “gonna c- cum too quick,” he murmurs, his usual rough tone appearing more shaky. his tone was a lot more vulnerable and weak, only with you.

you’re barely even doing anything. it’s been just a few minutes, just a few minutes of him going inside of your gummy walls and he’s already turning into mush. you run a hand down his buff, scarred shoulder and he merely loses it.

your touch drives him insane, he swallows a nice amount of saliva before his forked tongue lolls out a bit. he’s juddering pitiably underneath you from your sloppy movements. sukuna felt this way for no one, and the audacity for you to just .. make him so lewd, so feral.

there’s a repetitive ringing in his ears as he’s got ahold of both of your thighs. all tips of his thumbs pierce their ways into your skin and his fat cock twitches from your erotically hypnotic rhythm. each sporadic jolt of your hips makes his head toss back, growl after growl rippling from his husky vocal chords. “you’re so loud,” you tease, leaning in to kiss his cheek. his eye twitches from your lips making contact against his skin — yet, he doesn’t question it. in fact, it only turns him on even more. sukuna craved your touch like he craves a victory after a year long battle. “gonna cum for me, ryo?”

“curses.. i-” he stammers, adam’s able bobbing within each whiny syllable that spews out of his mouth.

you’ve definitely got him whipped, you’ve got the king of curses wrapped around your cute little finger. his jaw slowly dangles itself open and a hot breeze of air escapes. his body dramatically jitters from underneath you and you feel a certain familiar spurt shoot its way into your cunt raw. as you’re voluntarily slurping up every part of his fervor, he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

there, your neck’s being met with the keen edges of his animalistic canines pricking against your sweet, candied flesh.

sukuna’s tongue licks against you, making a cute attempt at suppressing his gruff whimpers but it’s to no avail. he’s cumming, and it’s so so much.

he’s seeing red, red and white.

a nice wad of satiny sticky load pours its way into your pussy and he’s just shaking underneath you. his body erupts like a volcano — he’s always so sensitive, desperately craving to cum again and again and again until he’s stuffed so much into your womb.

strong arms hold onto you tight as you just sit there, feeling his seed trickle into the deep soddened parts of your entrance. you’re panting with him, a hand gently stroking near his neat undercut and he groans into your neck. “s- so much, ‘m gonna die,” he mewls out, and it’s so unlike him to see him like this.

sukuna gingerly bites into your skin as he’s dumping such a goopy load into you. he’s panting heavily like a dog, puffs of air leaving out his throat so swiftly. his dick remains inside of you, clinging onto your walls securely for all it’s worth before he starts to hear the wet, slimy squelches. that was always his favorite part — the part where your pussy decides to talk back. “ngh, don’t move, princess. stay still- listen to it with me, please.”

you remain as still as a mannequin as his hot parching cum’s continuing to ooze its way into your puckering hole. it’s a lot, emphasize on a lot because when he cums, it’s a literal overflow.

it’s so much that it starts to race down the crevices of your thighs. a fat thumb of his gathers a good amount of it before smearing it over your pussy. with a sluggish sly expression, you cup his face, watching as he naturally lean into your touch. “you barely lasted a second, baby.”

“shut up, don’t forget who i- i am— oh fuckkk,”

and you start to ride him again, picking up your hips in a manner so ruthlessly sloppy that it gets him whiplash. the moment you start up again, he starts whining and he feels a staticky pulse surge through his weighty cock. with red bloodshot eyes, sukuna eyes you with such intent and not once does his gaze leave. he feels a sudden pang in his heart. but it couldn’t be that, or could it.

sukuna looked so pretty like this. underneath you, eyes half-lidded and beads of sweat racing down each side of his forehead. long dark lashes of his flap every few seconds and he jaw tightens, feeling your cunt soak him dry, milking him. his whimpers and whines were so loud, indefinitely echoing through the thin walls of his forbidden chambers.

your hand teasingly wraps around his thick neck and he’s never felt more aroused. sukuna groans with a snarl—making a cute attempt at baring a fang at you to seem more intimidating but it only makes him cute. a brief croak coming out of him before he grouses pathetically.

“harder. choke me ‘n make me cum again.”

[chrollogy]

SILKEN WEB

— chrollo lucilfer x f!reader x hisoka morow

syn: Hisoka’s ‘generosity’ allows Chrollo to fuck you in front of him after he’s seen the way the latter has looked at you. Though, the redhead cannot help but join in on the fun despite being the cuck—he has his ways, he always does.

18+ MDNI; explicit smut, porn without plot, cuckolding, voyeurism, threesome, creampie unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (f & m), anal (f), masturbation (m), edging, overstimulation, hisoka uses bungee gum, chrollo might be pining over reader, not beta read.

word count: 2.8k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. the fruit of my late night thoughts nod nod. as per poll results, here’s hisoka as the cuck :3

Fantasizing—a children’s pastime, a mere way to escape from one’s gruelling reality but Chrollo Lucilfer would be lying to himself if he deemed he wasn’t immune to it. Oh, he certainly wasn’t without a doubt; the root of all his wildest dreams, and twisted carnal desires was none other than the woman beneath him, all in her serene nakedness—you.

So breathtakingly exquisite—the epitome of beauty. From the lust-clouded gaze that complimented the colour of your eyes all the way to the dulcet tone of your breaths, this was sinful heaven for Chrollo. Sinful not because of the sharp pleasure kissing down his spine but simply because you weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours. Not lovers, not friends, mere acquaintances, and your heart was reserved for none other than a member of the Troupe he led.

But that never stopped Chrollo from fantasizing about you, about this. Ever the observant fighter, it didn’t take long for Hisoka to catch the former’s lingering stares on you—albeit, as blank as a sheet of paper—whenever he paraded you around. One of the biggest telling signs was that Chrollo had never uttered a word regarding your presence whenever you sat there during their meetings despite the other members�� dismay.

Of course, once something piqued Hisoka’s curiosity, he wouldn’t let go until a solid answer was handed to him on a silver platter. It was a short exchange between the two males, a few sharp retorts from Hisoka’s end but nonetheless, it led to this lewd scene. Per the magician’s words, he gave Chrollo permission to do whatever he pleased to you—to fuck, to make love, to get lost in eye-rolling pleasure within your very walls but only if he got to watch everything unfold.

From the intimate act of undressing, and peeling of clothes all the way to a passionate climax that was sure to vex his very bones, Hisoka was to watch it all.

Faint squeaks of the bed frame paired with yours, and Chrollo’s heated gasps filled every corner of the room; his thrusts were deep, and rapid, body intimately flushed against your own which absolutely left no room for coherent words to come out—with the way his cockhead repeatedly prodded your sweet spot, strings of broken whimpers, and low moans were the best you could muster.

Sex wasn’t something you were foreign with but the ungodly rhythm of Chrollo’s hips was enough to make you feel like a virgin again begging for more, more, more, nothing but pleasure engrained inside your mind, clawing, and running after that blissful sensation.

Chrollo was different from Hisoka, he handled you with the utmost gentleness but that didn’t take away the fact that he pounded you oh-so-passionately into the ivory mattress beneath. On the other hand, Hisoka was rough, and animalistic—purely driven by his wild carnal desires. 

Chrollo’s sweat-lined forehead rested against yours, face mere centimetres from your own as your breaths intertwined in a vulgar dance. The hearts of his palms captured your trembling hands in a firm hold, pinning them on either side of your head, and used as leverage to drive his cock deeper into your sopping cunt—as deep as his desires went for you.

He closed his eyes at the feel of your walls clenching around him, jaw tightening as electric pleasure shot up his spine, “F-fuck . .” God, you felt divine, Chrollo truly wanted to keep you to himself. He could treat you so much better than Hisoka—have you reach new heights of pleasure you’ve never experienced before.

Alas, that was out of the picture, Chrollo would have to settle for the mere intimacy of fucking you beneath these ivory covers, the same ones you, and Hisoka retire under after a long, tiring day. The duvet draped loosely across Chrollo’s back, mirroring a broken angel’s wings, and with the eager thrusts of his hips, it slowly slipped downwards. It was hot, and stuffy beneath the weight of the blanket but he’d do anything to keep the lewd intimacy from a pair of prying eyes.

That’s right, Hisoka sat on a chair not too far off the foot of the bed, an unamused expression plastered on his face but the growing tent between his spreaded legs hinted far from unamused.

Sure, the pornographic sounds bouncing off the walls had his cock hardening but Hisoka was deprived. He clicked his tongue, the sharp sound was enough to reel Chrollo out of his pleasured state followed by a stutter in his thrusts. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Chrollo but I said to give me a show, didn’t I?” What was Hisoka supposed to do with your bodies tucked beneath the covers? 

His view was nothing but the top half of Chrollo’s naked back, and the covers moving along with the latter’s thrusts, other than that, it left everything to Hisoka’s imagination. Of course, he wasn’t going to let it be, not after he generously let Chrollo fuck you like this.

With a swift flick of his index finger, the rubbery bright pink aura extended from the tip of his digit all the way to the ivory covers atop Chrollo’s naked back, attaching itself onto the fabric. A smirk crept its way up to Hisoka’s face as he pulled the covers down, exposing the way your naked bodies intimately tangled with one another.

A rather surprised gasp left your lips as the cool air hugged your fervent body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Naturally, this had also caught Chrollo off guard but didn’t let on, instead, the raven haired male responded by drilling his hips at a much faster pace, pulling a string of broken moans from your throat which only fuelled the excitement embedded in Hisoka’s chest.

Light amber eyes fixated where you and Chrollo met, Hisoka intently watched as the former’s cock disappeared, and reappeared between your coated slit—not to mention the light sheen of your essence around Chrollo’s cock, causing it to glimmer beneath the afternoon rays that seeped through the windows. Now, this was what Hisoka wanted to see—you, and Chrollo all in your filthy glory.

The feeling of blood rapidly rushing down to his cock, and the familiar tingle between his legs made Hisoka’s citrine gaze roll back, not to mention the growing delight on his face—it was anything but an innocent look. Lewd, wet sounds that were once muffled beneath the ivory duvet now reached Hisoka’s ears like an unholy melody; the constant skin slapping, the mixture of high, and low moans—the impurity of it all, your lover revelled in it.

Sounds of the redhead’s shameless pornographic moans intertwined with your own, and Chrollo’s as he teased himself through the fabric of his pants. Excitement shocked every part of his body like electricity, rendering him sensitive to anything, and everything—it was the same sensation as the extreme bloodlust he felt whenever he thirsted for battle.

Chrollo quietly clicked his tongue, not bothering to glance back at Hisoka in annoyance. He needed to focus on you. And he did. Without compromising the pace of his hips, Chrollo hooked his fingers beneath the back of your right knee, and deftly slung your whole leg atop his shoulder. The deeper angle of his cock had your back arching, your hands scrambled for his taut biceps to claw, and dig into as he pushed you further, and further into the borders of insanity.

“C-Chrollo! Fuck—right there! Just like that—haah!”

He let out a low groan as your nails marked him up, leaving streaks of bright red on his skin. By the looks of it, he wasn’t going to last much longer with the way your cunt gripped him like a vice. Nonetheless, Chrollo’s pace didn’t let up despite the resistance of your walls, albeit, it had his legs quivering, and breath hitching—god, Hisoka was so fucking lucky to have this, to have you.

Chrollo closed his eyes, and parted his lips to make way for soft pants, he focused his entire body in chasing yours, and his pleasure, basking in the ultimate bliss his body was currently experiencing.

Yes. Yes. Ye—

“She likes—haah! She likes taking it from behind—ngh!” The raven haired male shot his eyes open at the sound of Hisoka’s wanton voice, the concentration he once held faltering just a bit from the sudden noise.

Despite Chrollo’s better judgement, he hauled you into the position like a mere ragdoll, deftly handling your limp body with equal amounts of roughness, and gentleness. Though, your arms violently shook, and gave out as soon as Chrollo re-entered your cunt. With your torso flush against the ivory sheets, your lower half remained in position—easier for him to drive his cock deeper; you swore you could feel him in your throat.

The redhead let out a low chuckle, eager hands messily pulling his pants down to free his hard cock; Hisoka sighed at the lack of restraint, and threw his head back, exposing the length of his neck. 

With the new position, Chrollo returned to the pace he had set earlier, heavy balls slapping against your clit from each hard thrust. Skin against skin burned like a searing blaze but god did it feel amazing, not to mention how it stimulated your sensitive bud in all the right ways.

Chrollo curled over himself to place wet open-mouthed kisses down the length of your spine, moaning low saccharine praises in between. He pushed, and pushed into your sopping cunt until the coil deep in your stomach violently snapped. With a loud moan of his name muffled against the damp sheets, your back arched as you came around Chrollo—muscles taut, and knuckles a shade of ivory while pleasure gnawed at your skin.

Hisoka unabashedly fisted at his cock, one hand focused on pleasuring himself while the other sunk into the plush of the armchair. He matched the pace of his hand to Chrollo’s hips, imagining that it was your cunt instead of his palm, albeit, your velvety walls absolutely compared to nothing. Oh well, he’ll get a taste of you one way or another.

It didn’t take long for Chrollo to follow suit, driving his hips a couple more times before completely pulling out, and blowing his entire load on your bare back. He let out a shameless moan of your name—the loudest one he’s let out. Thick, milky ribbons of Chrollo’s cum unceremoniously painted your skin white, and all he could do was stare at it in a haze while his chest heaved up, and down.

On the other hand, Hisoka gave himself a few more rough pumps before squeezing the base of his leaking cock, lustily letting out a hiss as the pleasure he’d worked so hard for slowly dissipated. He cursed in between rough pants—the hunger for a sweet release just grew tenfold after depriving himself of an orgasm.

Hisoka had something better in mind than cumming on his hand.

“I guess it’s my turn.” Strong, muscular legs slightly quivered with every step taken towards the bed, cock standing proudly against his abdomen. Chrollo only narrowed his eyes at Hisoka, clearly displeased by his sudden initiative.

The former returned a smile, “Oh, don’t get greedy now, Chrollo. I’ll give you two choices—” He held out two long digits. “Either you sit, and watch or join in on the fun.”

Never in a million years would Chrollo even think to engage in a threesome with you, and Hisoka. He didn’t know what bothered him more, the fact that you were the latter’s lover or the fact that he was on the same bed as Hisoka. Nonetheless, here he was balls deep inside your ass, completely unhindered by inhibitions. Hisoka cursed at the feel of your wet cunt, biting his lips at the lewd sound it made as your hot cum coated his cock.

The redhead laid flat on his back, cunt wrapped around him while you straddled his lap which left Chrollo to take care of your backside. Your body remained slumped against Hisoka’s—limp, and quivering as if one wrong move would have you exploding to bits. Could you really blame yourself? Both men stretched you out like it was their sole purpose, it did nothing but put your body under immense pleasure.

You were sandwiched between Hisoka, and Chrollo as though mimicking a mere fly caught in a spider’s silken web, unable to escape. And that usually meant one thing: to wait for one’s impending doom before the ruthless arachnid strikes.

An experimental thrust of their hips had you wailing in pleasure. Having not given enough time to come down from your high, you were still too sensitive—any form of sexual stimulation immediately had your body uncontrollably shaking, and hot tears lining your eyes. Hisoka cupped your jaw with both hands, lifting your face in front of his own before closing the distance; heated, and rough just how he liked it; the redhead didn’t hesitate shoving his tongue past your lips, intimately exploring the inside of your mouth with the wet muscle.

If anything, the messy kiss was enough to distract you from the sudden rough pistoning of their hips—Hisoka gleefully swallowed your wanton moans, and relished at the burning sensation of your nails scratching down his bare chest. The bed creaked under the weight of their merciless thrusts with the headboard atop Hisoka’s head repeatedly banging the wall behind it; these sounds mixed with the lewd melody the three of you produced filled all four corners of the room.

It was funny, anyone would think that a Hisoka, and Chrollo tandem would be a match made in hell; highly volatile once paired together which would result in utter chaos but this—the two moved in perfect unison as though they shared one mind, one ideal. Even only if it was for this moment that they saw one another eye to eye, a wordless union to bring you to another orgasm.

A thin, translucent string of saliva connected your lips to Hisoka’s as he pulled away for a breather, hot breaths mingling with one another as you panted in eachother's face. A sense of pride bloomed across his crimson-marked chest as he watched your lust-filled eyes roll to the back of your head—Hisoka always had a thing for your expressions during sex, it served as fuel to keep going, to keep fucking you.

You looked beautiful bouncing on their cocks, head falling forward while taking their entire length like a champ; the only thing you could really do was grip onto Hisoka’s shoulders, and moan for your dear life. Chrollo couldn’t help but fixate on the way your ass jolted with every thrust, even just the sight of his cock disappearing, and reappearing between the globes of your ass had his head spinning.

It didn’t take long for you to reach yet another orgasm, and this time, it was more intense than the previous one; hot tears ran down your damp cheeks as your body convulsed from pleasure, a drawn out moan of their names combined scratched at your throat. As though he was punched in the gut, Chrollo curled over himself as you clenched around his cock, and attached his lips on your right shoulder, biting down hard at the bare skin.

Hisoka muttered sweet nothings while stroking your hair, amusement filling his tone; you laid there drowning in pleasure while both men remained chasing their own bliss, hips stuttering. It was filthy, and soaking wet where Chrollo, and Hisoka entered you, arousal mixed with your cum messily dripping down the latter’s balls, and onto the sheets beneath.

Chrollo’s digits dug into your skin, he sheathed his cock all the way inside your ass before emptying all his cum inside; he rode out his orgasm by grinding his hips, earning a dainty gasp of his name. Chrollo violently shuddered before releasing your skin from his teeth, he lapped, and kissed at the marks, helping ease the painful sensation he left.

This left Hisoka to firmly plant his feet on the mattress, and thrust upwards which sent your body bouncing once more; short gasps turned into full blown wanton moans as his cockhead repeatedly kissed your sweet spot, bringing your body into overstimulation. Hisoka groaned loudly as the familiar feeling at the pit of his stomach returned, you could tell he was close from the way his fingers gripped your waist with such desperation.

Strings of colourful curses left your lover’s throat as he came inside you, ribbons of his thick essence filling your walls all the way to the brim ‘til it leaked out, and dripped down his balls.

Heavy pants filled the room, the smell of sinful sex hung heavy in the air. The three of you remained still for a moment to catch your breaths but the short time also allowed your minds to clear of lust, and for the whole situation to actually settle in—of what the three of you just did.

Though, it was safe to say that Chrollo wasn’t going to let you escape from his hold any time soon—as though he had you entangled in bands of swathing silk—especially after finally getting a taste of you.

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

[gojosoups]

cw: smut, drink thief gojo, spitting, spit kink, unprotected sex, creampies, f!reader, all characters are 18+, MDNI, slightly proofread

gojo satoru is the type of boyfriend to take your drink from your hand when you least expect it, lift it over your head and out of your reach, and drink through the same straw like the menace he is.

and whenever you make a snarky comment and call him gross for ruining your drink, he reminds you how he spat in your mouth last night, or perhaps you need a memory refresher.

"'toruuu," you whine, getting on your tippy toes to grab your drink from your ridiculously tall boyfriend.

cursing your boyfriend's genes for his tall height, you cross your arms over your chest, watching helplessly as he takes a big long sip through your straw. your expression is sour as you glare daggers at him, and your boyfriend is none the wiser, as a goofy grin decorates his (stupidly handsome) face.

humming in approval, he takes a few more sips like the greedy big back he is before giving you your drink back.

"ugh, gross satoru," you say, looking at the lip gloss residue coating your straw, pushing the drink away.

"babe, i literally spat in your mouth just last night, and you think this is gross?" he smirks, leaning down and cornering you against the counter.

a pink hue coating your cheeks as he leaves you standing speechless, your mouth open wide in shock at his audacity.

“careful,” he says, thumb running over your glossy bottom lip, “or you’ll catch a fly.” you roll your eyes at him, resisting the urge to bite down on his thumb.

"you're insufferable," you scoff, the drink long gone as he grabs you by the hips. hands trailing down to the curve of your ass, before stopping at the back of your thighs. you squeal as he lifts you onto the marble counter, spreading your thighs and nestling himself in between them.

on instinct, your arms make their way to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck as he leans down, minty breath fanning your face and lips inches away from yours.

"I'm what?" he asks with a cheeky grin, ocean-blue eyes glowing intimidatingly as he looks down at you.

your breath hitches as his hands run up and down the expanse of your thighs, all thoughts leaving your pretty little head as you look up at him.

"shut up," you say, pulling him down into a searing kiss.

groaning at the sweet taste of your lips, satoru's hands make their way to your jaw. you gasp, panting for air as your boyfriend pulls your head back, "come on, open up pretty girl," you whine, his fingers gripping your cheeks, squishing them together to open your mouth.

gathering saliva in his mouth, he spits in your mouth, pulling out a moan from you. swallowing obediently, you feel him working fast at underdressing you, tearing your clothes off your body, and leaving you bare on the cold kitchen counter.

you whine in protest, fisting his t-shirt and helping him undress. your fingers running through his ivory happy trail, trailing down to the band of his sweatpants and tugging them down along with his boxers to reveal his angry leaking cock. precum decorating his pretty tip, making you bite your lip in anticipation.

pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, he aligns his cock against your wet entrance. 

"pussy so wet for me," he groans, the tip of his cock rubbing against your sensitive clit, making you squirm underneath him.

"fuck-" you squeal, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick grith as he bottoms out in your warm, velvet walls. fingers digging into his biceps to ground yourself, he increases his pace. a handful of your tits in his hold, squeezing them and twirling your puckered nipples in his cold fingers as his balls repeatedly smack against your ass, filling the once quiet apartment with sounds of skin slapping skin. 

choking on your moans, your toes curl as his thick cockhead thrusts up into your sweet spot. a finger making its way between your thighs, rubbing circles on your clit, pleasure overwhelming your senses as tears stream down your cheeks. 

your vision cloudy as you feel a pinch to your sensitive clit, making you wrap your legs around his slim waist, pulling him in closer. 

with a final thrust, he bottoms out in your tight pussy, mushroom tip kissing your cervix as he cums inside your pulsing walls. lips fluttering around his cock as your pussy tries to milk him dry, you cumming undone around his pretty cock with a moan. 

a/n: idk how I feel about this lol.. but enjoy <3

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

[salingers]

hayride.

[joel miller x f!reader]. summary: visiting home depot with your dad's best friend, joel miller. [and, him eating and fucking you, in the hay field located behind the store]. warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap. agoraphilia. anal fingering. au. begging. brat!reader. cream pie. daddy!joel. daddy!kink. dirty talk. dom!joel. jealous!joel. language. no outbreak. oral sex. no use of 'y/n'. praising. smut. unprotected piv. use of 'good girl'. use of 'slut'. word count: [about] 2,600. a/n: hi, more october-set smut, before the month's over. thank you for welcoming me into the fandom, by supporting my debut, october's end. cover by me, divider by @saradika. @saradika-graphics. <3

A decade’s fleeted, since the last time that Joel Miller’s arcing, bedroom window’s framed your body; You’re nearly an apparition.

Your mere silhouette’s evoking long-neglected memories for Joel; Your private school’s fussy graduation. Whistling, from the bleacher’s humid, metallic plank. Joel’s abruptly blinking away his proud reverie.

Your haphazard, gauzy curtains aren’t proffering any privacy. Your dresser’s girlish; A dust-ladened and weathered wicker. You’re scrounging the half-dozen drawers, sorting teenaged remnants, Joel’s guessing.

It’s arguably morally awry, that he’s guessing at all. You’ve unearthed an ivory-colored pair of panties. You’re sampling the garment’s width, against your clothed waist; Your index finger’s hooking the pliant underwear and slowly stretching. Joel curses, “Fuck’s sake.”

Joel’s denim-clad groin’s growing taut; You’re unbuttoning your pants. His conscience’s hollering, QuitWatchingQuitWatching. Then, Joel’s belatedly swiping his curtain’s panel shut. The plaid, trembling fabric’s punishing him. You’re right there.

Your peripheral’s revealing that brown, tartan material’s now obscuring Joel Miller’s looming, perusing shadow.

Your phone’s deeply droning, near plummeting from your nightstand’s uneven, wickered top. You answer, “Hi.”

Dad’s beginning, “Hi, you.” Before, “Room ‘lright?” 

You aimlessly nod, “Yeah. Need ‘t paint it, though.”

The flat, stark white’s reminiscent of an operating room. A scalpel amid your dominant, gloved hand; Your abandoned internship. You’re certainly color-drenching this bland, interim room.

Dad’s conveniently chirping, “Y’know, Joel’s headin’ over ‘t The Home Depot. ‘Jus asked if I needed anythin’ for work.”

You humorously say, “The Home Depot?”

Dad amusedly huffs, “The one ‘n only.” Then, “I’ll dial ‘im back. Tell ‘im ‘t bring ‘ya.”

You’re nervously inquiring, “He won’t mind?”

Dad’s chuckling, “Kid, seriously? ‘S just Joel.”

He hasn’t been just Joel, since his absurdly sexy appearance in Dad’s FaceBook album, dorkily titled, ‘Fishin’ Missions’. Dad’s askew lens, recording Joel’s roughened, veiny hand, sizably surpassing his fish’s ample breadth; His arm’s rind, rugged and sun-freckled.

 That heathered-gray muscle-tee; Hued identically to Joel’s own silvery threads. Accentuating. Your horny musing’s interrupted, when the doorbell’s nostalgic ding’s reverberated. A leadened, salacious feeling’s pin-balling your rib’s conical-shaped cage.

You’re descending the stairway’s carpeted tread. A once-over’s rushedly ensuing, amid the entry way’s gritty mirror. You’re timidly turning the front door’s bulbous knob; Your skin’s avidly warming.

Joel’s gruffing, “Waitin’ on an invitation?”

You’re feignedly snark, “Go ‘head, Miller.” 

Joel’s arousingly large. His belt’s leathered and suppled; Tapering his tender waist. You’re deliriously visualizing biting it. Your teeth’s individualized grooving, engraving Joel’s every-day accessory.

He’s beckoning, “C’mere. Settlin’ in okay?”

Your pulse’s embarrassingly hurried, as Joel’s hugging you. Your nose’s upturned, against his collar’s corduroy lapel; His inherent aroma’s autumnal. A heady medley of burnt cinnamon, earthy hay.

You breathlessly retort, “Y–Yes. ‘Jus fine.”

His beard’s deliciously graying and scruffy; Bristling you. Joel’s inching away; A hand’s kneading your elbow’s point, “Grown. Ain’t ‘ya?”

You’re muttering, “Think anythin’ in my ‘ol dresser’ll fit?”

Joel rasps, “Be fittin’ somethin’ ‘a mine. Talkin’ like that.”

You teasingly tut, “Oh? Promise?”

His jaw’s tightening, “G–Get in my fuckin’ truck, ‘lready.”

The retail store’s unmistakingly orange and tan exterior’s materializing onward. Joel’s hushedly threatening, “Got ‘t behave.”

You’re amusedly assuring him, “Me? ‘Course.”

He’s backwardly parking. His arm’s generously imposing against your seat’s cushiony spine, “Lot ‘a clients ‘a mine, in ‘ere.”

His chin’s abutting along his broad, reaching shoulder’s top. Joel’s delectable, lofting nose’s leading his prominent side-profile; His pursed, upper lip’s capped under an impressive, stiff mustache. Your cunt’s pulsating. You need to rabidly rut against Joel Miller’s aging, sun-tinged face.

You’re resignedly sighing, “Fine.”

Joel replies, “Bratty fuckin’ girl.”

His accent’s aggressively Texan; Languid. Syrupy. You’re involuntarily leaking, beyond your underwear’s cottony corral. The archaic radio’s uttering early-seventies Linda Ronstadt, until Joel’s halting the ignition.

You murmur, “Any cute clients?”

Joel’s apparently unimpressed; He’s agitatedly rolling his coffee-shaded eyes. Tutting, “Best be ‘lone, when I find ‘ya.”

You’re unpromisingly shrugging, before evacuating his Ford’s heated interior. Whispering, “See ‘bout that, Miller.”

Your skin’s momentarily rasped, from the atypically frigid, October wind. The store-front’s decorated seasonally. There’s pallets, upon pallets, of pumpkins; A uniformed variety of classic orange and creamy white.

You’re distractedly mulling around carving or painting pumpkins, while Joel’s unexpectedly wrapping his freshly-shedded, heavy chore-coat against you; His hand’s comfortingly scrubbing your shoulder’s taut blade.

Joel’s deeply humming, “Better, darlin’? Hm?”

You’re instantaneously arming the clothing item’s perfectly tenderized sleeves, “M–Much, Joel.”

You’re leaning, subsequently touching his torso’s muscular crest. Joel’s thumbing your collar’s curving bone, “Warm, here?”

You whine, “Yes.”

Joel’s beginning to crane downard, until he’s chinning your shoulder’s trembling shelf. You’re gasping, as he’s fingering your loaner, Carhartt jacket’s bottom button, from behind. His arm’s caging you.

His calloused pinky’s reaching, before flitting your pant’s folded fly, “And, here?” He’s wagering, “Warmer?”

You’re groaning, “Ngh. Y–Yeah.”

Joel carnally scolds, “Filthy fuckin’ girl. A–Askin’ me ‘bout other men? While your pussy’s pre-heatin’ ‘f me?”

His finger nail’s raking your zipper’s aluminum teeth. Joel’s tauntingly whispering, “Ain’t brattin’ much, now.”

You’re begging, “L–Let’s leave.”

He’s instantly moving. You’re incoherently stunned, as Joel’s adopting an orange-colored cart, “Find ‘ya in the paintin’ section?”

You’re spluttering, “J–Joel. ‘S not what I meant.”

Joel’s winking, “Darlin’, I know what ‘ya meant.”

He’s ambling ahead, bypassing the automatic door’s yawning jaw. Your dominant hand’s flexing, electrocuted in palpable pleasure; It’s reminiscent of Mr. Darcy. You’re involuntarily summoning an image of Joel, dressed as the aforementioned aristocrat, participating in Halloween.

Joel’s robust shoulders, heaving against an incompletely unbuttoned, wispy shirt. His chest’s foggy-toned, furling hair. His head’s rain-rustled, curly strands. A high-waisted trouser; Ascending his belly’s delectable slope, whilst canopying his cock’s dilating weight. You know it’s big.

You’re unfocused; Footing the hardware store’s threshold. There’s an assortment of motion-triggered, Halloween decorations erected nearby. You’re curiously setting one, an animatronic ‘Boogeyman’. The creepy distraction’s festively futile. Joel Miller’s still permeating your skull.

The paint attendant’s named ‘Ruger’. A gun manufacturer namesake’s befitting, given Ruger’s camouflaged, distressed t-shirt. He’s an Austin, Texas quintessential, twenty-something male; A ‘modernized’ mullet-and-mustache duet? Check. A smothering of ‘patchworked’ tattoos? Check.

He’s flirtatiously greeting, “Sugar. How can I do ‘ya?”

You’re brandishing an array of complimentary paint-swatches, against his counter’s crest, “Do color-matchin’?”

Ruger’s endorsing, “Best ‘round.”

You’re inwardly wincing, but Joel’s abruptly approaching. So, “Ain’t doubt it. Clothes shouldn’t be an issue?”

Your palm’s routing your breast’s pocket; Ruger’s murmuring, “T–That jacket? ‘Moss’ by Carhartt. Got codin’.”

You’re falsely enthusiastic, “Really? You’re the best.”

Ruger tosses an isolated thumb, signaling to his computerized, machine mixer, “Told ‘ya.” Asking, “Color’s goin’ in your bedroom?”

You’re agreeably nodding, “Yep.”

Ruger’s grinning, “Lucky paint.”

You begin, “You? Feelin’ lucky?”

Joel’s reprimanding, “Lucky that I ain’t kill ‘im.” Before, “Passin’ at my girl. Gettin’ paid ‘t do that?”

Ruger’s answering, “N–No, Sir.”

Joel’s deeply repeating, “No.” Then, “Two gallons ‘a Sherwin-Williams. Emerald. Matte finishin’, both of ‘em.”

You’re second-handedly embarrassed and incapable of meeting Ruger’s apologetic, parting peer. Joel’s efficiently emptying his cart’s plastic-composed basin, before rehoming his kindred supplies, upon the check-stand’s laminate surface. You muse, “Emerald’s two-hundred dollars ‘a paint?”

Joel’s genuinely offended, “Ain’t payin’. I’m gettin’ it.”

You’re avidly insisting, “Don’t have ‘t do that, Miller.”

Then, Joel’s rapidly reaching outward; Yanking your belt’s fraying loop. You’re firmly tugged against him. He drawls, “Want ‘t do it.”

His breath’s cinnamony and smoky; An inebriating merging of gum and cigarettes. You dizzyingly respond, “Y–Yeah?”

Joel’s languidly leaning, before brushing his nose’s point against your ear’s lobe, “Yeah.” Whispering, “Paintin’ your bedroom the color ‘a my jacket? What’s that ‘bout, darlin’ girl?”

You’re shyly stammering, “D–‘Dunno.” Accusing, “Sayin’ aloud, ‘my girl’? What’s that ‘bout, Joel?”

Joel’s grinning, “That? Want ‘t find out?”

You’re panting, “Oh?”

His palm’s barreling behind; Stuffing his pant’s pocket. You’re savoring the rattling sound of his key-ring’s recovery. Then, Joel’s rapidly shoving the mixed-metal wad inside your rear-pocket. His bulky hand’s harshly kneading your bottom’s fleshy heft; Your cunt’s thumping.

He demands, “Go ‘head. Right behind ‘ya.”

You’re ocularly rummaging around Joel’s unkempt vehicle. American Spirits. Matches. A thrifted, Patsy Cline cassette. Big Red. Coins. A dog-eared, John Steinbeck novel. The sexual suspense’s dampening your sternum; Sticky. Sweaty. You’re beginning to desperately undress.

The Carhartt coat’s discarded. Your flimsy henley’s unbuttoned. Joel’s egressing from Home Depot’s aromatic interior, before pausing at the Garden Center’s check-stand. No way. A hundred-dollar note’s being thrusted, from Joel’s girthy hand, unto the cashier’s gloved palm.

This broad, burly man’s buying you fucking pumpkins. He’s pensively plucking them. His brow’s furrowing; His forehead’s wrinkling. Joel’s literally examining them, heeding any blemished gourds. You’re bewilderedly blinking, as Joel’s palming them, like they’re… Basketballs.

Your waist’s winding, impatiently rutting against his truck’s benched seat; Your pant’s denimed seam, slotting your cunt’s drooly entry.

Then, Joel’s jerking the back-seat’s door ajar. Asking, “Pick ‘em ‘lright? Did ‘ya see?” His scruffy chin’s jutting, at his quartet of pumpkins.

You’re swallowing, “Y–Yep. Thanks, Miller.”

Joel’s gruffing, “C’mon. ‘Course, pretty girl.”

His arm’s effortlessly flexing, tanned and veined, amid transferring his plastic-bagged supplies. Joel’s guessing, “Need ‘t be fucked, in ‘ere?”

You shamelessly moan, “Mhm.”

He’s teasingly whistling, “Yeah? Ain’t far from home, baby.”

You’re grumbling, “T–Too far.”

Joel’s patronizing, “Gettin’ cocked, in ‘ere? ‘S really slutty.”

You sigh, “Don’t care. C’mere.”

The shopping cart’s rapidly returned, before the driver-seat’s groaning under Joel’s jeaned ass, “Needy pussy.” His construction boot’s tamping the brake’s pedal, “Ain’t it? Get ‘t fingerin’. Feed me somethin’ warm.”

Your brassy button’s unhitching; Your toothy zipper’s buzzing. You’re hurriedly shrugging the denimed material downward; Ankling it. His mouth’s prematurely parting. Your underwear’s transparent, flooding in arousal. Joel’s dangerously speeding, departing the feebly-populated parking lot.

He’s feverishly warning, “There’s an empty hay field, ‘round back. Bit ‘a off-roadin’. Yeah?” Directing, “Give ‘em.”

Then, Joel’s toughly tugging your panty’s waist-line. You’re shamelessly obedient; Your fabric restraint’s promptly removed. His beefy, index finger’s impatiently suspended; Pumping. Your pussy’s watering his passenger-seat’s cushioning; Your underwear’s encircling Joel’s commanding digit.

The all-terrain truck’s bumpily impeling, devouring the barren field’s acreage. Eyes involuntarily shutting, Joel’s blindly steering, inbreathing your underwear’s deluged gusset. His nostril’s flaring. His cock’s pitching, prodding below his crotch’s denimed rein; You’re stuffing your pussy’s well.

Joel’s harshly moaning, “Listen ‘t that. Cryin’ fuckin’ hole.”

You’re whimpering, “M–Mm. Ngh.”

He’s greedily ringing your plunging wrist; Yanking. The rapid removal’s obscenely squelchy. Then, Joel’s immediately slurping your index and middle finger’s balmy glaze; Your thumb’s pinning upon his chin’s graying, scratchy underside. The truck’s recklessly slowing.

Joel’s haphazardly parking. The halting, howling tires begin spewing an autumnal confetti; A misting of dry hay and auburn leaves. You’re suddenly hoisting against Joel’s bulging lap; He’s instantaneously hammering, before spitting out your moistened finger’s duet.

And, Joel Miller’s finally kissing you. His groan’s pouring, beyond your esophagus. Licking your mouth’s rippled roof; Siphoning your tongue’s humid pad. Your naked pussy’s pouncing upon Joel’s clad cock. He’s thumbing your cheek-bone’s divot and cupping your jaw-line’s hind; Whimpering.

He’s arousingly exhaling, “Ngh. ‘S fuckin’ tasty.” Then, Joel’s dropping horizontally. Laying, “Fixin’ ‘t guzzle ‘ya.”

His head’s hedging the passenger-side’s door; His boot’s budging the driver-side’s door. You’re drawing upward, as Joel’s guiding you. Your dewy hole’s ramming against Joel’s awaiting face; He’s nosing your clit’s distended mound. Your innard thigh’s twitching, “G–God. Feel fuckin’ good.”

 Arousal’s rigorously sopping Joel’s beard. His mustache’s coated and creamy. Your behind’s leveraging; Ass firmly spreading. Joel’s maneuvering and manhandling you. He’s lapping, nearly pornographically swigging. You’re internally levitating; Your spine’s liquefied, “A–Ahhhh. Joel, Joel.”

Joel’s innocently whispering, “What?” Then, “Asshole’s puckerin’. Need pluggin’?”

You’re deliriously nodding, Yes. His center digit’s tantalizingly traveling below. Brushing your clit’s crest; Scooping your cunt’s slick. Your fluttering, furthest hole’s aching, against Joel’s circling, finger’s pad. He’s beginning to tandemly traverse; Eating. Fingering.

Your stomach’s tightening, as Joel’s knuckling you. His head’s nuzzling; Shaking. His beard’s rigidly whiskering, across your core’s folding, before he’s relentlessly sucking. Your clit’s flickering; You’re blindingly cumming. Joel’s airily humping; His cock’s englarging.

He’s hoarsely speaking, “A–‘Atta girl.” Praising, “Drippin’ inside ‘a my fuckin’ ear?” Sniffling, “Up my fuckin’ nose? Good, wet girl.”

You’re dizzyingly horny, “Miller. PleasePleasePlease.”

Joel’s grinning, “Please?” 

Your puffy pussy’s eagerly lowering, “Yes.” You’re gyrating, against his lap’s ridge, “Fuck. F–Fuck me.”

He’s grunting, “Fuck ‘ya? Fuckin’ slut. Keep beggin’.”

Joel’s leaning upright and sitting upward. Your disoriented shirt’s being tossed away. Licking your throat’s trail; Skimming your nipple’s peak. You’re nakedly stamping atop his torso’s towering mass. Your skin’s goose-bumping, “Ngh. P–Please, Daddy.”

His brow’s amusedly arching, “Y–Yeah?” Demanding, “Who’s.” Thrust. “Your.” Thrust. “Daddy?”

Promising, “You.”

Joel’s approvingly nodding; His driver-side door’s thudding open. His arm’s muscularly solid, whilst effortlessly upholding you. You’re burrowing, at his throat’s protruding, pulsing vein, as he’s regressing vertical. His anterior boot’s pressing upon decaying hay; A gelid gust of wind’s wreathing.

He’s attentively mumbling, “Shiverin’? Let’s warm ‘ya. Hm?”

His beard’s balmy and cunt-scented. You’re being settled, amongst his driver-seat’s aged upholstering. You’re amorously fidgeting, as Joel’s flitting his belt’s metallic prong. The accessory’s yanked from his fading Wranglers, as Joel’s abutting the cushion’s edge; His zipper’s deliciously drawing.

The belt’s noisily plummeting; A leathery slap, against the floor-mat’s rubbery surface. Your waist-line’s eagerly grasped, whilst Joel’s positioning your pussy’s twingeing hole. He’s hissing, during an arousing upheaval, of his cock’s entirety; The seeping tip’s bypassing his belly-button’s nook.

His t-shirt’s becoming translucent, as pre-cum’s dampening it. You’re following the ample shaft’s terse twitching. Blurting, “Need. That.”

Joel’s attractively smug, “This?” He’s robustly swatting his cock, across your clit’s cummy summit, “Think it’ll fit?”

You whimper, “F–Fuckin’ make it.”

He’s lowly whispering, “Dirty fuckin’ mouth.” Then, Joel’s abruptly and aggressively entering, “Go ‘head. Keep mouthin’ off.”

The truck’s boisterously creaking, as Joel’s ruggedly rutting. Your cervix wall’s convulsing, crowning his cock’s head. Your shiny spend’s glossing Joel’s graying, pubic tuft. His groin’s angrily clobbering, striking your cunt’s doused expanse. You’re incoherently stammering, “N–Ngh.”

Joel’s responding, “Can’t hear ‘ya, bratty girl.”

You’re painfully stretching, inside-and-out. His jeaned, lower-portion’s gloriously grating your thigh’s rear. Your right-side leg’s hooking through the steering wheel’s median; Your left-side leg’s perching, against Joel’s widening shoulder’s tier, as he’s weightily falling forward, “Say somethin’?”

Your limb’s achingly pinned vertically; Your body’s contorting, creating an indecent, ninety-degree angle. His focused, sun-wrinkled forehead’s grown moist. His furling, silver-tinged strands begin cascading. The benched seat’s dilapidated stitching’s imprinting, decorating your back’s extent.

Your taint’s repeatedly thwacked, by Joel’s brimming balls. His angle’s hitching, hitting that spot. You’re shrieking, “A–Ah.”

Joel’s accordingly bottoming-out, “Doin’ good. Stretchin’ well. Ain’t it?” His hip’s briskly oscillating, “Good girl. Good pussy.”

You’re shuddering, “D–DaddyDaddyDaddy.”

The pleasure’s pouring. Your cunt’s palpitating; Your spine’s taut. Joel’s resultantly stroking, maintaining his pacing, but drilling harder. He’s licking, crossing your hung jaw-line’s road. His tenderized t-shirt’s feathering, against your exposed nipples, over-sensitively tapering them.

Joel’s rasping, “C’mon. Flood my fuckin’ truck.”

His tone’s arousingly languid. That’s it. You’re breathlessly cumming. Every extremity’s tightening, before blissfully dissolving. Your vision’s brightly impaired. Your climaxing moan’s fractured, as Joel’s ingesting it. His mouth’s restorative, whilst being ruining. You’re whispering, “Flood me.”

He’s whimpering, “Y–Yeah?” A prominent vein’s materializing, against his throat’s girthy rind, “Ain’t wet ‘nough, ‘lready? Greedy hole.”

Then, Joel Miller’s hotly erupting. His length’s flinching. Your fatigued, flittering hole’s wringing him. His aging brow’s bunching; You’re caressing his cinched expression. Your right-side leg’s being removed, amidst the steering wheel’s medial opening. Joel’s comforting, “Hurtin’?”

You’re indifferently shrugging; Joel’s unconvinced. His palm’s expertly massaging your leg’s weary ligament. You’re pathetically sighing, making Joel laugh. He’s kneading your knee-cap’s exhausted muscle, before fingering your calf-tendon’s aspiring knot. You stammer, “T–Thanks, Miller.”

Joel’s questioning, “How ‘bout Lowe’s, ‘morrow?”

You’re grinning, “Sure. If ‘ya sleep-over, tonight.”